The Simmer Dim of a Night Light

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My heart is  

swaddled in the nursery

of my chest

swinging on a breakable bough

frightened of the cradle and all fall

until it’s comforted by

the cavalry of memories

like the ghost image snapshots

of my long losts

who adore me to this day

through the code of their scrapbook eyes.

My heart is a teenager

still drunk on the 

Absinthe of perfume

or the memory of 

long girl hair

swaying like a hammock

on the summer porch 

of her naked lower back

My heart is a bridegroom

walking the last mile

condemned by commitment 

who is suddenly pardoned by the entrance of 

my barefoot Titania in Queen Anne’s lace,

attended by her bridesmaids,

Cobweb and Moth,

who have come to make tender folly of my fears

and whisper their fairy songs of love

which sounds like the lullaby tide

of a never-ending beach.

My heart is a father

whose knees still quiver whenever

it hears the word,

 “Daddy.”

And now it’s a grandpa

moved to its core 

by the stampede of feet

and the cadence of bedtime duets

presented in the simmer dim of a nightlight.

My heart is the final tally of me.

It’s the register of my triumphs

The columns of my losses

The permanent exhibition of my defiance

The Mount Everest of my regrets

The sepulcher of my sadness

The fireworks of promises that never soared 

against the diamond lit 

black parchment sky.

And yet

at the end of each day

just as I’m about to tumble into

the wild flower field of sleep

my heart speaks to me 

in the dream voice 

of my dad 

who offers a one-word message

that is all I have ever needed to hear.

He whispers,  “Tomorrow.”

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